


Turning Tables

by Xanthos_Samurai



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jason Todd, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Incest Kink, M/M, No Lube, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Psychological Warfare, Switching, Top Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28274448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanthos_Samurai/pseuds/Xanthos_Samurai
Summary: Jason helps Deathstroke and Black Mask set a deathtrap for Batman. When Bruce escapes but finds Jason waiting for him back at the manor, all he can think about is how to punish his wayward son.
Relationships: Implied Black Mask/Jason Todd - Relationship, Implied Deathstroke/Jason Todd - Relationship, Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	Turning Tables

**Author's Note:**

> There's literally no good excuse for this other than I had a vision of Bruce angry-fucking Jason on a pool table and felt called upon by the powers that be to make it a smutty reality.
> 
> THAT SAID, I feel compelled as a Fandom Old to state the following:  
> -Anal sex with no lube is a very bad idea, don't do it.  
> -Going ass-to-mouth is a VERY bad idea, REALLY don't do it.  
> -Jason and Bruce are both horrendously fucked up individuals, srsly please do not do anything they do. Please. Thank you.
> 
> Minus that, please enjoy! And as always, big kudos to my dear friend Orphean for encouraging me to follow the siren call of the smut muse whenever that fickle bitch happens to turn up.

Jason had just sunk the eight ball into the corner pocket when he heard the Cave door slam. It was a heavy door and was designed to open and close as quietly as possibly besides, so slamming it was an impressive feat by any measure.

It meant only one thing: Bruce was _furious_.

Jason circled the pool table, cue in hand, looking for his next shot. He’d already been up here for over an hour, shooting pool while he waited for Bruce to show up. Breaking into the Cave, where he knew he was no longer welcome, would have been bad enough. But breaking into the manor, where he was explicitly forbidden, was going to send Bruce over the edge. Especially after the little gift he’d helped his new colleagues prepare for the Batman.

He’d known Bruce would escape before the deathtrap could cause any actual, you know, _death_. He’d designed it that way. But he’d also designed it so that Bruce would have to work damn hard to get out unscathed. After all, he had to impress the new coworkers.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

The growl came from the doorway. There had been no footsteps, no sounds of approach, no warning aside from the distant door slam. Bruce just appeared out of nowhere, cloaked in darkness and rage like a fallen angel.

Jason straightened and turned around. He allowed the cue to slide through his grip until the butt hit the rug with a muffled _thunk_. 

Bruce hadn’t wasted any time getting up here. He was still damp from the shower beneath his black t-shirt and black pants, his still-wet hair slicked back. He hadn’t even taken the time to properly get the kohl off his eyes - the black liner was still thick around them. It only added to the effect of the icy blue glare. 

The edge of the pool table pressed into Jason’s backside as he half-sat on it. He was relaxed, casual, acting like he owned the fucking place. Jason Todd could act like he owned _any_ room, but this particular room was owned, literally, by Bruce Wayne. And therefore it was much more fun to to pretend it was his.

“I think a lot of things, Bruce. You’ll have to be more specific.” 

“Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me. Not tonight, Jason.” Bruce surged forward. One, two, three steps, closer but not within reach of Jason. Not yet. 

“I just spent hours cleaning up the mess that you made with Deathstroke and Black Mask. I know you’ve been working with them, Jason. I know what you’ve been doing for them. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” 

“Of course I knew you’d find out. The thing is that I just didn’t care if you did.” 

The words were hardly out of Jason’s mouth before Bruce struck. He was so fucking _fast_ , faster than a man his size had any right to be. His hand was around Jason’s throat in a grip like a vice before Jason could even react. The pool cue fell from his hand and clattered against the table, then the floor. 

“Why? Why are you doing this?” Bruce demanded. His eyes blazed blue fire against the black paint. “Are you doing this to punish me?”

Jason sucked air between his teeth, grinning even as he felt Bruce’s grip leave bruises on his neck. His arms stayed limp at his sides. He wasn’t even trying to struggle. 

“You never change…” Jason sneered, but his voice was a rasp. “You always think everything is about you…”

The hand around Jason’s throat - that calloused, scarred, manicured hand - released him just as abruptly as it had seized him. Before Jason could do more than gasp for breath, Bruce’s mouth was on his, hot and demanding. The space between them vanished as Bruce shoved forward, pressing his body against Jason, pressing Jason back into the pool table. 

“I keep giving you chances…” Bruce snarled against Jason’s mouth. His fingers twisted in the hair at the nape of Jason’s neck and pulled. “Why do I fucking bother?”

“I don’t know…” Jason gasped. His chin tilted up, exposing the vulnerable expanse of his neck. “Why do you?”

Bruce pressed his other hand to Jason’s throat again, fingers splayed across the sharp line of his jaw. His eyes were still burning, but now there was a different heat in the icy blue. 

“Shut up.” He ran his thumb across the fullness of Jason’s lower lip. “Just stop fucking talking.” 

Jason bit him. “Why don’t you fucking make me?”

The heat flared again in Bruce’s eyes and he responded by biting down on Jason’s lip, hard enough to draw blood. He claimed Jason’s mouth again, and this time the kiss tasted like salt and copper. 

“You ungrateful little bastard… Teaming up with them to hurt me...”

When Bruce pulled away, the red smeared across his lips and the black darkening his eyes gave him an almost demonic air. 

Bruce forced Jason to turn around and slammed his hips against the wooden edge of the pool table. He kicked Jason’s feet apart and forced him down, bending at the hips until Jason’s palms and face were pressed against the green felt of the pool table.

“Do they know you still belong to me?” Bruce hissed in Jason’s ear. His hands were at the buttons of Jason’s jeans, ripping them open, yanking them down around his thighs. Jason could feel the hardness of Bruce’s cock pressing into him from behind. His own cock was half-hard already and trapped between his body and the table, but he liked the pressure. 

“Black Mask and Deathstroke… Do they know this still belongs to me?” He spread Jason apart and rubbed his still-clothed cock against Jason’s entrance.

A moan shuddered through Jason and he spread his legs further.

“Fucking do it!” He snarled, his lips and fingers fingers curling fruitlessly against the felt of the pool table. 

There was no love in it, the way that Bruce held him down and fucked him hard. And that was good. Jason didn’t want love. Not from Bruce. Not anymore. He fought against him, not to get away, but just to be difficult and deny Bruce the immediate satisfaction of getting what he wanted. He wanted to drive him to that razor-thin edge that existed between Bruce’s control and Bruce’s desires. He wanted to send them both headfirst over that edge and into the abyss.

“When you let them fuck you, do you tell them who you really belong to?” Bruce’s hand was tight on the back of Jason’s neck, forcing his head down. He kept pounding at Jason, each thrust sending a shockwave of pain and pleasure through his whole body. His hip bones ground into the unforgiving wood of the table. Jason heard himself curse and moan and beg but he had no idea what words he was saying. He didn’t care. As long as Bruce kept going, he would say or do anything he wanted.

“Do you moan for them like this? Do you bend over and let them take you like this?” Bruce’s fingers bit into his skin.

“N-no…” Jason moaned helplessly.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me. You’re still the same little whore you were when I found you.” 

The fingers fisted in his hair again, pulling him back, forcing him upright. Jason pulled, just to make the pain more intense, and was rewarded with a slap on his bruised hip that made him gasp. Bruce sank his teeth into Jason’s neck and sucked on the salty skin there. 

Bruce thrust extra hard, so hard that Jason let out a shout of surprise and pain. He’d forgotten how fucking _big_ Bruce was. But Bruce had always been big, hadn’t he? Larger than life, and then some. The idea of him had filled Jason up as a kid until there was nothing left, just like the reality of Bruce was filling him up now. And just like before, Jason was determined to take all of Bruce, to prove he could take everything Bruce could give him, and then some. Or die trying.

“This is _my_ pussy, do you understand?” Bruce twitched his hips for emphasis, as though Jason could possibly have forgotten the cock inside him.

Jason moaned an incoherent response. “Yes God just don’t stop _please_ don’t stop fuck…”

“Say it.” Bruce’s teeth bit down on the other side of Jason’s neck, giving him twin bite marks. “Say that your pussy belongs to me.”

“My pussy belongs to you…” Jason shimmied his hips and pushed back, trying to entice Bruce to keep thrusting into him. “It all belongs to you… So keep fucking me already…”

Instead, Bruce pulled away. The abrupt removal and loss of sensation made Jason gasp. He fell forward a little, catching himself with his palms against the pool table.

“What the fu-” 

He started to turn around to demand an explanation when one of Bruce’s bare feet hooked around his knee and yanked. His legs were already weak and Jason dropped, pain shooting through him when his knees made hard contact with the floor. He only barely avoided slamming his head into the pool table as he fell but even so he felt a little dazed.

It wasn’t until those same scarred and manicured hands grabbed his face, one splayed across his cheek and jaw and the other curling around the back of his head, did Jason realize what Bruce intended.

“Suck me off. And swallow. Do you understand?”

It was a voice that brokered no argument, that suffered no refusal. It was _the_ voice, the one that Jason heard most in his own sickest dreams, and had since he was a kid. He nodded and leaned forward, but the hand at the back of his head gripped onto his hair.

“Do not use your hands. Put them behind your back.”

Ah. So _that’s_ what he wanted. 

Jason complied, clasping his hands behind his back. Bruce’s fingers were at his lips, forcing his mouth open. He bit at them and earned a slap across his cheekbone, sharp and stinging.

“Behave or I’ll make this hurt,” Bruce threatened.

The cold burn of Bruce’s eyes made heat rush through Jason’s body. Bruce liked to watch. Bruce liked to watch Jason’s lips around his cock as he fucked his mouth. He liked to hold Jason’s head still and control the tempo with his thrusts. He liked watching Jason gag and keep taking it. 

Jason knew all about what Bruce liked. And he liked it too.

“Finally a good use for this fucking mouth.” Bruce’s voice went low and throaty, a different pitch and tone from the growl. 

Jason knew just from that that Bruce was close, so fucking close. He was close too, his cock so hard just from this that he didn’t dare think about it or he’d come. And he knew from experience he wasn’t allowed to come before Bruce did.

Then Bruce’s breath hitched in his throat and his fingers tightened against Jason’s scalp and his jaw.

“Take it.” Bruce snarled as he forced Jason’s head forward, burying himself inside the wet heat of Jason’s mouth. He held his head in place so Jason couldn’t back away, couldn’t refuse, couldn’t hardly breathe. “Take it and swallow. Don’t you dare spit any out.”

Jason gagged and sucked in air as best he could. Even if Bruce’s hands hadn’t been holding him in place, he wouldn’t have backed away. Jason Todd never backed away from anything, not even this. He moaned into Bruce’s last few desperate thrusts, knowing that Bruce could feel it as well as hear it. His hands were still behind his back, nails digging into the opposite wrist.

Bruce grunted as he emptied himself down Jason’s willing throat. The sound was animalistic, and Jason fucking loved it. He liked remembering that Bruce wasn’t any better than him, just a fucking animal who, deep down, wanted the same dirty, depraved things he did. He crooned in his throat as he swallowed just like Bruce had told him to. He wanted to remind Bruce of it too.

They stayed like that for a moment, Bruce breathing hard and Jason reveling in the sound, reveling in the fact that he’d made Bruce fucking _work_ for it, reveling in the cock still in his mouth even though his jaw ached and his head hurt from the slap. He was still trying to ignore how incredibly, _achingly_ fucking hard his own cock was.

And then Bruce tore himself away, shoving Jason back with a knee at the same time. Jason fell forward onto his hands and knees, gagging and choking and coughing. It felt like fire on his raw throat, but he loved that too. Just another souvenir to remember the evening by, just like the twin bite marks on both of his shoulders.

Once Jason caught some semblance of his breath, he sat back on his knees and looked up at Bruce. The tip of his tongue flicked against the corner of his mouth, as though he was making sure he’d captured every last drop. 

Bruce had already tucked himself back into the black pants and was staring down at Jason with an expression of perfect disgust.

“What’s wrong, Bruce?” Jason’s voice was hoarse, a broken whisper after the abuse his throat had endured. It turned his already husky voice into a throbbing purr. “Do you need me to call you Daddy for you to really feel satisfied? It’s what _they_ like me to do.”

“Get out of my house. I don’t ever want to see you here again, Jason.”

“Oh, but who would give this to you if you kick me out for good? Dick? I don’t think so.” 

Jason stood, slowly. Sometimes he thought Bruce forgot that they were almost the same height. He was used to looking down at his partners, sidekicks, colleagues, lovers… but not Jason. Jason he had to look in the eye. 

“No, you’re gonna let me back in. You always let me back in. You know why? Because I’m your fucking shadow, Bruce. I’m the mistake you keep making, no matter how hard you try to stop.” Jason leaned back against the pool table again. Almost idly he took his cock in hand and began to stroke himself.

He could see a muscle jump in Bruce’s jaw, the line appear between his eyebrows. Bruce had no idea that Jason had made a fucking _study_ of the planes of his face over the years. Other people might think Bruce Wayne to be vapid and Batman to be implacable, but Jason knew better. He knew exactly how to read when the tension in Bruce was from anger… or guilt… or lust.

“You know you need me, Bruce.” He purred in his low, broken voice. “Have you missed me? Have you missed this?” 

Jason stroked himself, so slow, teasing Bruce even more than himself. He was inches from the edge, but he wanted to draw it out, wanted to force Bruce to admit that just fucking him wasn’t enough. 

“...Yes.” Bruce’s voice was broken too, his eyes fixed on Jason.

“Then come over here and show me.”

Bruce took a step forward and halted. Anger and desire and guilt, strange to see in a man so self-assured, flickered in his eyes. Jason didn’t move. You couldn’t try too hard with Bruce, or he’d bolt. You had to let him think that it was all his idea. 

That’s what all of them got wrong about Bruce, and what Jason got right.

Bruce always thought everything was about him. Allowing him to think that was the best way to get him to do what you wanted. 

“You already fucked me once tonight, Bruce. What can this hurt?” He rasped and spread his hands as if displaying himself. “It’s not like I’m gonna tell anyone.”

“Fuck you, Jason.” 

And then Bruce was on his knees and his mouth was on Jason’s cock, desperate and hungry and needy. It was like whiplash, how Bruce could go from one extreme to the other, from using Jason’s body as a target for his rage and betrayal to acting like it was the source of absolution. Jason loved it, loved the breathless tension of watching Bruce’s moods battle inside him and never knowing which one would emerge victorious. 

“You were always so good at that…” 

Jason touched Bruce’s hair. Not to pull, not to cause pain… it would hurt Bruce more to feel gentleness right now, to be touched tenderly. The guilt of what he’d just done to Jason would burn all the more with every single soft caress. 

“After all, you taught me everything I know…”

He felt Bruce shudder beneath his hand, around his cock and laughed. He wondered if Bruce was looking at the bruises already blooming across his hips from where he’d been slammed repeatedly against the edge of the pool table. He hoped so. 

“Good boy…” Jason purred as Bruce swallowed. “Without me even having to tell you… Such a good boy…”

Bruce pulled away and glared up at him. Blood, Jason’s blood, still stained Bruce’s lips and the black paint smudged around his eyes. He was fucking beautiful in a way that no man should be, and his anger made him even more so. 

“Don’t you dare fucking say that to me,” he snarled.

“You like saying it to me so much that I thought perhaps you’d enjoy hearing it for a change.” Jason’s grin widened into something sharp and cruel. “But whose voice are you imagining when I say it?”

Bruce pushed himself up, his face contorted with disgust and shame and rage. Not only that, but hatred, real hatred, burned in his eyes. The sight would have struck fear into any other man, but Jason knew better. He knew that all of Bruce’s hatred was directed inward at himself. 

“You asked me earlier if me joining up with Black Mask and Deathstroke was my way of punishing you.” Jason rose to his feet, languid and deliberate. He pulled up his jeans and buttoned them. HIs eyes never left Bruce’s. “The answer is no. _This_ is my way of punishing you.”

Bruce’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. The knuckles were white.

“Get out. I don’t ever want to see you here again.”

“Fine. I got what I came for.” Jason shrugged. 

He walked, not to the door, but to Bruce. The man who had been his father, once. Father, partner, lover, enemy… all of them and none of them. Their eyes met, and they could both see the truth. Now all they could ever be, _could_ ever be was this: Two broken men trapped in an endless cycle of punishment and pleasure and pain. Forever. 

Jason smiled. He couldn’t wait to see how Bruce would hurt him next time.


End file.
